


An Accidental Tale

by tobeconspicuous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Cinderella Elements, Crack Treated Seriously, Falls into a fairytale, Fluff, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Snow White Elements, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24471292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconspicuous/pseuds/tobeconspicuous
Summary: “Almost midnight, guess that’s my cue to run.”“This is ridiculous.”Greg held out his hand. “Why don’t you run with me? Change the story.”
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 15
Kudos: 38
Collections: Mystrade Is Magic





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After much humming and hawing, I've decided to publish this. Just in time for the collection.
> 
> Loosely inspired by the Thursday Next series.
> 
> Special thanks to Bulletproof-Love for betaing (and bettering), and britpicking this fic. She has been my cheerleader and the reason why this is being published. Any other mistakes are my own.
> 
> I do not own, only enjoy, and I hope you do too. Feedback is very much appreciated

> _ 'This must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays.' _
> 
> _ Arthur Dent; to himself, sinking low over his beer. Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy _

It was supposed to have been a quiet Thursday in the office; a late start. A day spent catching up on paperwork. Instead, Greg Lestrade had woken to find himself in a small, straw bed. He quickly scanned the room. The bed was tucked next to a fireplace in a stone room.

Before he could gather his bearings three strangers barged into the room and began to demand their breakfast. Greg opened his mouth to protest only to find himself at a wooden bench chopping cabbage. It was as if someone else had control over his actions.

After breakfast, he was ordered to tend to the animals and clean as much of the house as he could. He moved through his tasks as though they were second nature. Greg barely had time to rest before he was pushed through to his next task; helping the family to get ready for a ball.

As he offered coats and laced skirts while the family loudly and repeatedly explained that Greg was far too poor and comely to be invited. When they finally left, their laughter echoed behind them as their carriage drove away. Greg was glad to finally be rid of them.

Greg slumped down to the floor and placed his head in his hands. A bark of strangled laughter escaped before he let out a groan of frustration. What the hell was happening to him?

Out of the corner of his eye, a bright light appeared. The bang that followed caused him to jump. He raised his head to spot a very familiar-looking woman. Mrs. Hudson was dressed in a long blue robe with a large pink bow. 

“Mrs. Hudson?” Greg asked as he scrambled to his feet.

“Inspector,” She hummed back. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same,” Greg grinned. “Sherlock send you?”

“No dearie,” she frowned slightly. “I am here to help you get ready for the ball.”

“You what?”

Mrs. Hudson ignored him and drew a wand from her sleeve. She hummed to herself as she began to wave her wand.

His clothes transformed into a tailored pale, silver suit, (“My late Husband’s, dearie.”) Flowers were embroidered across the chest, and his shirt and collar were a pale blue. His shoes were a silvery, almost glass like material. If you squinted they almost resembled oxfords. Greg was certain he was hallucinating now.

Mrs. Hudson continued to wave her wand, and soon a pumpkin had been transformed into a carriage and mice into horsemen. She shoved him inside and directed them to the palace. 

“Be home by midnight,” She called as she waved them off. “You never know what may happen to the suit.”

Greg stared out the carriage window, the countryside raced past him. He could have used this as an opportunity to run, yet something kept him rooted to his seat. All too soon they reached the palace. As he rode through grand gates made of gold Greg decided he was definitely hallucinating.

He stepped out into a grand courtyard. Guards nodded at him, not even asking for an invitation or documentation to confirm he was actually supposed to be there. Greg was guided into a large hall that looked like something out of a Disney movie. Gold floors: gold walls: gold ceilings. It was all rather ostentatious and ridiculous. Greg scanned the room, looking to see if there were any familiar faces. 

He was certain he saw John and Mary. As soon as he moved towards them they disappeared into the crowd. The family he had spent the day slaving for were on the far side of the room. One of them near a large table of food, the other sulking in a corner. Greg decided to head in the opposite direction.

He pushed his way through the crowd of dancing people. Deep in his gut he knew this is exactly where he was supposed to be. He felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned around.

Mycroft Holmes was standing before him. He was wearing a cream coloured jacket with tailored red trousers and gold plumage. Greg held back a laugh. Even as ridiculous as he looked, somehow Mycroft still managed to pull off the ensemble.

“Detective Inspector.” Mycroft had never appeared so relieved to see him. “Is there something going on? Are we sharing some sort of mass hallucination? It’s been a strange day.”

“You and me both.” Greg was relieved he wasn’t the only one in the middle of this. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked up, it dawned on him that people were watching them intently. He felt suffocated. “Anywhere we can go to talk?”

Mycroft nodded and grabbed Greg by the shoulder. As he led Greg through the crowded room, whispers followed them. They ignored them as they moved out onto a balcony, it shone like diamonds in the moonlight. Greg almost rolled his eyes, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was made of them.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Mycroft turned to Greg. “Something very strange is going on here. Apparently I am a prince who needs to choose a wife by midnight tonight.”

“Did you spend all day here?” Greg asked. “It’s like a Disney movie.”

“Did you hear anything I just said?” Mycroft raised a single eyebrow.

“I spent the day being a slave to a family of idiots,” Greg began. “Only to have your brother’s landlady dress me in this—” He gestured at the silver suit he was wearing. “— and send me here in a pumpkin.”

Mycroft looked down his nose at him. “Gregory, are you trying to tell me—”

“That we’re hallucinating,” Greg chuckled. “Or we’re living a fairytale.”

A loud ominous chime reverberated throughout the air. The two men jumped.

“What the hell was that?” Greg asked.

Mycroft’s face was tight. “It sounds like Big Ben.”

There was another chime, and another; each louder than the previous. Greg felt odd, his feet began to itch. Another chime sounded. It hit Greg like a bolt of lightning. They were in a fairytale and a clock was counting down.

“Almost midnight,” Greg laughed bitterly. “Guess that’s my cue to run.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Why don’t you run with me?” Greg held out his hand. “Change the story.”

“If this was a fairytale you’d be wearing glass slippers,” Mycroft scoffed. “Or something equally ridiculous.” Greg raised his trousers to show his ornate shoes. “Well they aren’t very practical for running.”

“Come on then.” Greg snatched Mycroft’s hand and started to drag him down the conveniently located staircase to the side of the balcony.

Mycroft was right of course. The shoes were not practical for running. He felt himself slip, and begin to topple forward…

The ground never came. Instead Greg felt himself fall into darkness. He gripped Mycroft’s hand tightly, trying hard not to let go. Greg’s stomach dropped and began to spin, slowly at first then faster and faster.

“Mycroft.” Greg tried to hold on. He squeezed Mycroft’s hand, straining to hold on. It was no use, an instant later he was gone. Mycroft had slipped through his fingers.

Greg hit the ground with a thud. 

He could feel dirt and grass beneath him. He allowed himself a moment to breathe and then he opened his eyes. 

Above him was a large, dark figure wearing a red feathered cap. He was holding a large hunting knife high above his head. Greg scrambled to his feet, raised his hands and took a step back.

“Easy now.”

The man rushed forward and slammed himself against Greg. His world spun as his head cracked against the ground. The man was sitting astride Greg, effectively pinning him to the ground. He lifted the knife once more and Greg raised an arm, bracing himself for the attack.

“Gah,” the man spat. He threw the knife to the ground. “I’m so sorry, your highness. The queen wanted me to kill you but I couldn’t do it.”

As the large man began to shake, Greg slumped against the ground and let out a slightly hysterical noise. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thanks to Bulletproof-Love for betaing (and bettering), and britpicking this fic. She has been my cheerleader and the reason why this is being published. Any other mistakes are my own.
> 
> And a special thanks to those who took a chance on this!
> 
> I do not own, only enjoy, and I hope you do too. Feedback is very much appreciated

> _Nothing screws up your Friday like realizing its Thursday._
> 
> _Anonymous_

This is ludicrous, Greg thought to himself as the huntsman wiped his nose on his sleeve. After throwing his knife to the ground, the burly looking man had broken down, crying about the queen's evil plot to kill Greg for his beauty.

If Greg was anywhere else he would have laughed.

“Mmm sorry,” the huntsman sniffled before pulling himself to his feet.

Greg forced a smile. “S'alright.”

“Yer kind,” the huntsman stated. “Please forgive me.” Greg whispered a quick ‘yes’ before the man continued. “I’ll find a way to convince the queen you're dead.” He nodded. “I’ll protect yer.”

Then he stalked off leaving Greg to fend for himself.

“Wait!” Greg shouted, but the man was gone. He dragged himself to his feet and stood there for a moment, blinking. Unsure of what exactly just happened or what to do next. “Who just leaves someone stranded in the woods?” He muttered to himself as he surveyed his surroundings.

Streams of light broke through leaves of tall, dark trees. He was in what must have been a clearing of some kind. Birds sang sweetly, rabbits bounded through the clearing, he even spotted a deer frolicking in the distance. It was picturesque. Greg circled the clearing, trying to make out some kind of path.

He spotted a log covered in moss, one long branch appeared to point into the forest. Greg’s stomach flipped. Something told him that he needed to head in that direction. Eventually he took a deep breath, followed his gut, and trudged forward.

Soon the light began to fade and the forest darkened. As shadows grew long the trees began to twist into sinister shapes. The noises of the forest sounded darker. Greg swore he could hear a growl. Greg forced himself to ignore the sounds and continue forward; his gut his only guide.

A warm glow appeared in the distance, he knew exactly where he needed to go.

He stumbled over roots and pushed through branches until he stumbled across a small, friendly-looking cottage. A huntsman and a cottage. It all felt so familiar, definitely another fairytale, but he just couldn’t place it. 

Silently he crept towards the cottage. As he reached the facade he noticed the curtains were drawn and he heard the muffled sounds of voices arguing from inside. He stopped in front of a carved front door, raised his hand, and knocked. The voices quietened.

And then he heard an almost familiar voice squeak. “Come in.”

Greg reached for the door handle and turned. The door swung open and he stepped inside. “What the hell?”

Seven familiar pairs of eyes were fixed on him. They were just… _shorter_ than normal. For the first time in his life he felt tall.

“Ahh Lestrade,” Sherlock sneered as he walked over. “Care to join us?”

“What is going on here?” Greg looked around the room: Sherlock, John, Mary, Molly, Donovan, Anderson, and Dimmock were all there. “You’re all…”

“Short?” Anderson supplied with a sneer.

“None of us really know what’s happening,” Molly tried to explain. “We sort of woke up like this.”

“For some of us, it’s our second go.” John huffed. “Mary and I were having a grand old time at a ball and now look at us.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “John--” 

“Bored.” Sherlock hit Greg on the knee.

“Sherlock,” Greg winced. He took a big step back, away from the other man’s reach. 

Sherlock scoffed and gave Greg a sharp look. “Come now, Lestrade. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Some sort of mass hallucination?” Greg winced as the words slipped out. This was the second time he had expressed the sentiment.

“Wrong,” Sherlock stated, a smirk on his face.

“He’s been saying that all afternoon,” Donovan groaned from her seat in the corner.

“He’s driving us all insane.” Anderson sneered. “Maybe you could knock some sense into him, Greg.”

There was a sharp rapping sound at the door. All eight people in the house turned to look to the noise.

“Speaking of knocking,” Dimmock chuckled.

“You might want to get that,” Sherlock looked pointedly at Greg. “It’s for you after all.”

Greg looked at the door, every instinct was screaming at him to go out there. He reached for the door and then hesitated.“Maybe I shouldn’t--”

“Just do as he says,” Donovan ordered. She threw Greg a wink. “Snow White.”

Another knock shook the door.

“Oh come on,” Greg sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. “Shouldn’t you all be mining something then?”

The visitor banged on the door again, their knocking growing louder.

“Get the door,” they all shouted at him. 

“Fine,” Greg snapped. He pulled open the door and glared. “What is it?”

There was a hunched figure in a deep purple robe. Clutched in one arm was a basketful of apples. Greg glanced back at the group of people inside. They all nodded eagerly. Except for Sherlock, who scowled and impatiently waved his hand.

“Come outside dearie.” A long, slender finger appeared from the robe’s sleeve. The finger curled, beckoning Greg forward with a brightly painted nail. “I’m old and I can’t see properly.”

Greg held back a snort, the voice was far too young, too _sultry_ to be anyone considered old. “Alright then.”

As he stepped out of the cottage, the door behind him swung shut. He was effectively cut off from everyone else. He took a deep breath and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. He didn’t like this one bit.

“Come closer,” the woman almost sang.

Greg cocked his head. “Not until you lower your hood.”

The woman placed the basket of apples on the ground, they appeared to shine in the sun. As her hands clasped the edge of the hood and the air began to hum. Indistinguishable whispers grew louder as the woman lowered her hood and a familiar face appeared.

“Hang on,” Greg exclaimed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know you, you’re Irene Adler.”

Adler practically lit up. Her lips were painted the same red as her fingernails, the same red as the apples sitting innocently in the basket. “Delighted I’m sure.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a crone.”

She hummed. “I thought about it.” Her smile was wicked, her eyes bright. She reminded him far too much of Sherlock. “But I felt I could be far more persuasive as myself.”

Greg furrowed his brow. “What are you doing here?

“Playing my part, just like you.” She bent over and gracefully picked up the basket of apples. Greg’s eyes were immediately drawn to the fruit, and his gut began to churn.

“Aren’t you a bit early?” He gestured to the full house behind him.

“I grew impatient,” she grinned before plucking an apple from the basket and offering it to Greg. It was big, red and juicy. Greg’s stomach grumbled. Hours had passed since he had eaten anything. Greg could almost taste the apple on the tip of his tongue, his mouth began to water. “Now be a good boy and eat this up.”

Greg took the apple from her hand and studied it for a moment. He brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply, it smelt almost sweet. It looked delicious, but he knew how this story ended. His instincts screamed at him to put the apple right back into the basket.

“I’m not going to eat that apple,” he said to himself more than Adler. 

“You really should,” she said eagerly. “You eat it and I get to go home.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “And _I_ end up in a coma.”

“You will be rescued,” Adler hummed. Greg watched as she stretched her neck, something sinister flashed through her eyes. Her smile grew wider. “Eventually.”

“I think I’m going to pass.” Greg finally placed the apple back into the basket.

“Suit yourself,” Irene sang as Greg’s vision began to blur. “See you soon.”


End file.
